


Anticipation

by lapsedpacifist



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Gen, Kidnapping, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsedpacifist/pseuds/lapsedpacifist
Summary: Bruce sent Dick on a school trip primarily to give the poor kid some time off from his night job, to have fun like a normal kid his age.But of course Gothamites could never have anything nice, as evident by Dick and his entire class ending up kidnapped for ransom.With Batman and other superheroes unable to help, Dick is faced with a dilemma. Break his cover and save everyone or let his secret be and watch as how everyone around him died? Robin existed to save people, so who was he if he couldn’t even do that?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. Arrival

Waiting in front of an airport departure gate, surrounded by thirty or so rowdy schoolmates that included neither Barbara nor Thomas, Dick Grayson was still trying to decide which layer of hell this fit into.

“I can’t believe we’re flying economy.”

“Well, I can’t believe we’re flying commercially.”

“And I can’t believe I have to listen to you two!”

That last comment was courtesy of one Max ‘Maximilian’ James Peterson, currently the biggest douchebag in Dick’s vicinity, and his first intelligent sentence that week. Although he fully agreed with the complaints, Dick wasn’t crass enough to utter them aloud.

He sank farther down in the uncomfortable seat and tried to ignore others squabbling as they waited in the line, unused to having to wait so long before being allowed on the plane. But it was a small flight and the business class not big enough for all of them, so everyone was firmly delegated to needless suffering in chairs half a size too small and twice as uncomfortable.

He was trying to hide his face behind a new edition of National Geographic, but his Geography Professor was sadly not blinded by it and continued with her second favourite pastime, counting students and herding them into big, easily overseen groups. She must have been a border collie in a previous life, he figured.

Fun to imagine, not so fun when she tracked him down: “Richard, have you not heard the instructions? Move into the queue, please!”

“But professor, look how long it is!” he pointed out. “Me sitting here won’t make any difference. I’ll just be standing five inches to the left.”

“Richard, I asked all of you to stand in a line. I didn’t ask for your opinion on this.”

He took a deep breath and—

“And don’t go rolling your eyes on me!”

—forgot he didn’t have his mask on, and left the magazine on the empty seat. Ignoring the sniggering and giggles that accompanied his zombie-like move into the request position he stared straight ahead and started working on a plan to kill Bruce as soon as he came back.

Seriously, why did Bruce think sending Dick onto a class excursion would be a good idea?

Three days later the planning of Bruce’s brutal murder was finally put on hold. Dick was now feeling much more optimistic about the whole thing. He had quickly found a couple of other individuals, abandoned by their friends, and they stuck together rather than skulking around alone. And as much as he complained about his schoolmates, most were pretty alright people.

They had divided into two groups, and their section was headed towards a partially restored mine, led by Professor Beck. Why exactly it was the professor of German and not History coming along remained a mystery, but the hushed whispers in front of the teachers’ cabinets and some side eyeing of particular students were pretty good indicators of what – or who – exactly was responsible.

Dick was not amongst that particular rabble; an achievement of which he informed Bruce and Alfred with far too much zeal. Bruce still couldn’t believe how well behaved Dick was in school as opposed to home and the Team. Dick liked keeping him guessing, as it evened the odds when they bet on anything school-related.

So now he dutifully followed behind Professor Beck, with Marcus, Ilse, and Jacob next to him. Most definitely  _ not  _ only walking between Marcus and Jacob because Ilse, despite being the same age as him, was also taller than him.

“It is with my greatest regret that I must inform you that the train will be fifteen seconds late,” Jacob said.

Marcus shook his head: “No, no, you’re not– not enough– ugh, like–” He flailed around with his hands for a moment, trying to explain his point, but it only made everyone even more confused.

Ilse took a deep breath, and then: “Zis train is fifdeen zeconds delayed.”

They all immediately checked if Professor Beck had heard anything, but she was in a deep conversation with one of their guides and remained oblivious to their entertainment.

“That’s not fair, you’re basically German!” Jacob protested, pouting that her imitation beat his.

“Excuse you,” Ilse snapped, “I am one eight Danish!”

“Ha, I could go for one right now.”

“Hold on,” Marcus immediately intervened, “I thought you were Swedish.”

“Isn’t that like, the same thing?” Jacob asked.

Their eyes swung back to Ilse to hear her judgement. She scrunched her nose for a moment as she thought about it. “I guess,” she finally said. “Still. Dick, what do you think about  _ my  _ accent?”

He went along with her painfully obvious attempt to change the subject: “It’s pretty good. I think. I dunno.”

“I thought you were some language whizz,” Marcus said. “And Professor Beck is somehow less mad with you than the rest of us.”

“That’s because I didn’t skip three classes in a row, Marcus,” Dick said to Jacob and Ilse’s amusement. They were quite easily entertained.

“Mhm,” Marcus nodded. “So–” he said, carefully pronouncing it with a hard s, “wie gut ist dein Deutch, Dick?”

“Slecht, heel slecht.” When confronted with raised eyebrows and visible confusion, he smiled. “I’m trying out a dialect.”

“Ugh, I don’t know why I decided taking Russian was a good idea,” Jacob moaned. “I had to learn an entire alphabet!”

Ilse gasped, all scandalised: “Are you saying you would choose Professor Beck over Miss Gaddy?”

Jacob seemed to consider that for a moment, but then shook his head. “Never mind, I'm happy where I am.”

“I still don’t know why you guys are so enamoured with Professor Gaddy,” Dick said.

And while Jacob and Ilse giggled about his use of the word ‘enamoured’, Marcus reached over and gently patted his shoulder. “You will understand when you’re older.”

“We’re the same age!”

“You’re seven months younger!”

“Could you please keep quiet and listen to the instructions?!”

Four pairs of wide open and very worried eyes immediately turned to Professor Beck, who was not impressed by their behaviour.

“Sorry,” Jacob quickly muttered. 

“Well, we definitely won’t be repeating any of this,” Professor huffed, and pointed towards the door through which the rest of their group had previously gone. “Follow them and get yourself properly dressed. Oh, but before that, please give me your phones.”

It was Ilse that flinched back, already shaking her head: “No, Professor, c’mon! We weren’t even on our phones—”

“I’ll return them once we finish the tour. It’s not like you’ll need them during it, will you now?”

Only one answer would be satisfactory here, and so Dick shrugged and gave up his phone. Jacob and Marcus followed with great reluctance, and Ilse departed with hers only after two more warnings and a threat of a write-up.

Having finally robbed them of their most prized possessions, Professor Beck now allowed them to enter the building and what turned out to be a basic but functional locker room. 

They were given waterproof coveralls and Jacob had to borrow boots after his sneakers were deemed unsatisfactory. Not that he was the only one not understanding the proper footwear instruction part. They were also given the option, or what could be better termed ‘a strongly worded recommendation’, of leaving their backpacks and various bags in the lockers, but Dick firmly declined and kept a firmer grip on his than an octopus on her snack. Just because you were paranoid that didn’t mean they weren’t after you.

The lift was too small to fit all of them, so they went down in groups of four plus the guide. Professor Beck clearly had a hard time deciding whether it was better for her to wait upstairs with the more rebellious part of the group – and that included Dick, which, c’mon, he had worked so hard on his image (that was a lie) – or immediately descent so that she could keep watch of the incoming.

In the end she went down with the third group, leaving Ilse, Jacob, Marcus, and Dick to wait all alone for the five minutes or so that it took the ancient lift to make the round trip.

“I’m cold,” Ilse muttered. 

“We’re not even underground yet. It’s gonna get colder,” Jacob told her. “Why didn’t you bring a sweater?”

“A sweater? In May? Are you insane?”

“A mine is like a cave, cold.” That might have sounded more profound in Jacob’s head.

Ilse rolled her eyes. “Shut up, sneaker boy,” she snarled back. “So sorry I didn’t go through our schedule with a fine comb and noted down everything we might need depending on our exact GPS location for the day!”

Dick, who had done exactly that at Bruce’s behest, tried not to feel insulted.

“I hope you’re not claustrophobic,” Marcus added.

“If you were claustrophobic, they would’ve put you into the other group. They’re visiting a butterfly museum,” Dick piped up.

Jacob considered that. “So why didn’t we go with them?”

“Numbers. Also, that would mean you wouldn’t be stuck with me,” Marcus said. “I signed up for this group specifically. And what better treat than spending time in my presence!”

“I am truly honoured,” Dick agreed. Then motioned towards the approaching lights. “The lift’s back.”

“Last group!” the guide announced and hurried them onto the platform. “We’re about to descend more than 650 feet underneath the ground.”

Ilse flinched as the locking mechanism clicked into place as the gate was slammed shut.

“Keep your hands to yourself and do not touch the walls of the shaft. It will be dark, but just for a couple of minutes before we arrive.”

Looking up Dick spotted two lights, fastened to the supporting beams of the cage. They were both busted.

Ilse was now hugging herself in some futile attempt to retain warmth.

He reached back and opened his backpack, rummaging through it until he found a spare hoodie. “Hey, Ilse, here.”

She took it and gave him a grateful smile even as Marcus whistled: “Smooth, Grayson.”

“I actually have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ilse told him and pulled off the top of her coveralls to put on the hoodie. “Although – you can make all the jokes you want if you give me your jacket.”

Needless to say, Marcus did not do that.

“There’s no cell signal down there, right?” Dick then turned to their guide. “Why’s that?”

“No, there isn’t. And I’ll explain later to the whole group, I don’t want to explain it twice.”

The sudden stop shook the platform and Dick sought the support of the nearby metal beam as Marcus and Jacob fell all over each other.

“We’re here,” the guide announced and opened the cage with a loud screech. “Follow me.”

The hallway was badly illuminated and wet. It was only a short walk to a set of impressively massive doors for such a tight space and for a moment Dick wondered how they got them down there. Ilse, right behind him, was clearly still regretting the lack of warm clothes even with the loaned hoodie. Marcus’ eyes were glimmering as he didn’t dare voice his excitement and Jacob was clearly preparing for the most boring walk of his life.

The imposing doors swung open.

And the quarter found themselves with guns to their heads.

Dick’s backpack was taken away as was Jacob’s bag. Their hands were then handcuffed behind them and they were forced to sit down next to the rest of their group. Some were quietly crying and trying to huddle together as multiple armed men stood above them. Dick pushed back until he hit the rock, trying to see as much of the room as possible. It was a rather big cavern with wooden desks and benches, probably used as some sort of a classroom. But all of the furniture was pushed aside into a big pile, onto which their bags were also thrown. He could spot five gunmen, all of them wearing masks. Their ‘guide’ had disappeared somewhere, but Dick was sure he was also in on it. The guy hadn’t been nervous enough to not be a willing participant.

One of the men, the only one dressed in dark green instead of all black in a mistaken attempt to blend with the bacteria and fungi covered walls, stepped forward and swung his gun over the whole group: “Sit tight and not a peep out of you, ya?”

Now, this entire kidnapping or hostage situation or whatever it was had clearly been well-prepared in advance. They were trapped in an unfamiliar place with no cell reception and only one apparent way out. With nobody expecting them anywhere for the next, oh, three hours?

Which presented another problem. It was less than 50 degrees inside, and Ilse was not the only one with clothing far too thin for the environment. And while the tour would’ve been easily survivable even in less, he had a bad feeling they would be sitting there much longer. Sitting still on the cold floor was very much  _ not  _ conductive to warmth production.

“Again, keep quiet!” The men weren’t wearing any sort of symbols or signs that would connect them to any known group, no discernible accents that would help pin down their origin and as of yet no strange quirks.

Next problem: bodily harm. These men were far too relaxed pointing guns at what was a group of young teenagers, and Dick doubted they would shy away from a show of strength to prove just how serious they actually were. Which, not ideal.

The boy next to him – Albert L- something – nervously shifted and one of the other masked men, this one with combat boots that looked two sizes too big for him, menacingly stepped forward. Or at least tried to do that in a menacing way, but to Dick it just looked like he was badly imitating limping with both his legs at once.

He shifted his body between Albert and Combat Boots, careful to not look the man in the face but simply stare away as he was in shock.

Considering communications: he almost face palmed. While normal smartphones would in fact not get through, his upgraded one just might – if he still had it! Of all the times for Professor Beck to exercise her – no, no, it wasn’t  _ only  _ her fault. Ugh, Bruce was going to be insufferable after this.

Bruce! Dick briefly returned to planning his guardian’s murder, but quickly abandoned that line of thought for later. This would show him, thinking Dick was oh-so-much safer on school trips than on patrol back home!

But back to communications. Dick did have a plan B (where B stood both for second and Batman/batparanoia, how convenient), but was not ready to execute it, as it would just create far more problems than it would solve and raise far too many questions. It would be better to find out just how their kidnappers planned to communicate their demands to the above world and work with that.

Because that’s what they were most probably; kidnappers after ransom money (hopefully) or with a personal vendetta against one of the many famous parents (hopefully  _ not  _ – hopelessly?).

“Alright!” Dark Green man now announced. He motioned to two of his  co-workers  subordinates, Combat Boots and Goon 1. They dropped their guns in order to pick up a cheap camera (further solidifying Dick’s theory that this was well-planned in advance. This also meant that someone from their Academy was working with the masked group, either of their own free will or under pressure. It wasn’t Professor Beck as she was sitting gagged and very pale in another corner, although she could also be a very good actress. But he doubted that. The traitorous conspirator – for the lack of a better word – was probably as far away from here as possible. If they were high up in the hierarchy, they could also steer the police investigation.)

All these thoughts distracted Dick enough so that he flinched when Goon 1 grabbed Jacob and pulled him in front of the camera that Combat Boots set up in front of a bench. 

Jacob was meekly resisting Goon 1’s hands and was easily pushed onto the bench, with Goon 1 taking back his gun. He then positioned himself behind Jacob so that the threat he and his gun posed were more than apparent as Combat Boots instructed Jacob to look into the camera.

“Every one of you will now announce their name and ask their parents to save them,” Dark Green said. “Don’t try to be smart. We have more than enough of you to show you just how serious we are.”

Then the recording started and Jacob began to stammer out the message: “I’m J-Jacob Wi-William Kagan a-and I…”

If they were doing this one by one, starting at the right end of their group, Dick was up after Ilse and Marcus. Maybe even Albert, if he switched positions… No, too suspicious. Alright, if he did want to send out a message to Bruce, it couldn’t be hidden in the text. Or not just his text. They also probably knew the blinking trick, and he didn’t want to discover just how disposable he was. He wanted to remain  _ posable –  _ wait, no, that already meant something and it wasn’t what he wanted it to mean. 

It was already Ilse’s turn, and she was shaking slightly less than Jacob, who was now back on the ground.

Besides, Dick didn’t really have that much to reveal. The inside man could easily be deduced without Dick’s information, and everything else would either be revealed through the background of the video or whatever message these men had for their parents.

Although…

Ah, it was his turn.

He made sure to shake and drag his feet as he was escorted to the bench, even refusing to blink to make his eyes water.

Combat Boots behind the camera gave an impatient but universal ‘move on’ sign with his hand, and Dick fearfully nodded.

“I’m Richard John Grayson-Wayne,” he slowly whispered out, but the man didn’t take the bait and didn’t urge him to speak louder. Deciding that his eyes were sufficiently wet to excuse his behaviour, Dick bit his lip and began blinking furiously as he scrubbed at his eyes. He made sure it was first three fingers from his left and then three fingers from his right hand that crossed his eyes before dropping his hands and continuing: “And… And I want my, my— my dad to save me. Please!”

The men moved to the next victim, and Dick was hugged by both Marcus and Ilse once he got back into the group. Truly, he should get an Oscar or something for that performance.

It took them a while to get through all the people. They ignored Professor Beck, which meant they already considered her dispensable, a bad position to be in if they ever realised they needed to make an example out of someone. Even more people were now crying, something Dick realised he might have been indirectly responsible for, but he at least knew everyone’s full names now. What a wonderful memorisation tactic.

They finished with the last girl, Rebecca Tina Annabel Johnson, and then the camera briefly swung over their bound group before focusing on Goon 1. “I trust you see how serious the situation is. Pay up a hundred million and your kids go free. You have twelve hours to drop the first half on the provided account number, or we start randomly shooting. You’ll then receive further instructions. And don’t bother with superheroes. For every cape we see, a kid gets a bullet.”

Then Goon 1 tapped his gun. “Oh, and just in case you thought we weren’t serious?”

In a blink of an eye he had it pointed at their group and pressed the trigger before Dick could so much as shout ‘duck!’, much less move to defend anyone.

The recording cut out in the middle of screams.


	2. Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick makes a decision and hopes it's the right one.

Not much happened for the next several hours. Most were too exhausted to keep crying but too cold and scared to fall asleep. Dick had helped Elisabeth bandage her hip, happy to see that the bullet had merely grazed her. She expressed some surprise at his adept handling of the repurposed t-shirt, but he only murmured something about a First Aid course for extra credit.

The waiting game continued. The three gunmen that stayed to watch over them spent most of that time quietly sitting around and occasionally shouting at them, neither of which provided Dick with any helpful information.

He didn’t even know if the video had been sent out already or if they were stalling. Did Bruce know he was missing? And why did they explicitly prohibit superheroes but not cops?

He shifted where he was half lying, half sitting down, and tried to get into a more comfortable position. And tried not to catch the worried eyes of Ilse, Marcus, Elisabeth, and half of the other girls. So he might’ve cried a little, so what! So he was maybe really short, so what! It didn’t mean they had to treat him like a baby! They should be worried about themselves, not him– alright, alright, productive thoughts, _Robin._

Robin.

His utility belt was in his backpack. But that was seriously the last resort. And if these douchebags didn’t kill him, then Bruce sure would once Dick explained just how he managed to reveal his secret to fifteen teenagers, his teacher, and five criminals.

Alright, but if he _were_ Robin right now, how would he get out? First priority was obviously the safety of his schoolmates, so he would have to take out the men in this room. But the cavern had three entrances. So he might need to shepherd them through the main one, back to the lift. The trouble was that he didn’t know whether the way was clear and if anyone was waiting for them at the top, as well as the very long time it took for the lift to make a single trip with five people. The rest of the armed group had seemingly disappeared down the middle entrance, and as he didn’t have a map, he had no idea what they could be doing.

Actually, that was a good idea.

As the cavern was normally an education-focused place, the walls were covered by various posters explaining the history of the mine, mining processes, noteworthy individuals, and a couple of maps. Two were too far away as well as too simplified to be of any help, but the one next to Professor Beck’s prone form appeared good enough. Only two years old it hopefully accurately reflected the current condition. Now he was only faced with the hard task of getting closer without arousing suspicion.

Thankfully, somebody decided to provide a distraction.

“S-sorry,” a voice hiccupped, “but… I need to… I need to go to the toilet.”

The men exchanged a glance, probably weighing the risks of taking the kid – teenager, probably older than Dick, why did he keep calling his schoolmates kids? Did that imply he had issues with self-reflection or whatnot Black Canary liked to talk about? But he digressed – the choice between taking the teenager away to piss or having to smell piss in here for the rest of their guard duty.

They decided on escorting him out.

One of the gunmen motioned for the kid to follow him and they left through the far-right exit, the one Dick hadn’t seen anyone use before. Likely a useless dead-end then. But that inspired the question as to what– focus!

He had indeed moved closer to the map while one of the remaining two guards was busy with the doors and the other stared away from Dick. Now he could both look at the map as well as smile reassuringly at Professor Beck.

But he would need another distraction to move away. And judging by the glances and uneasy shifting other classmates were now doing as well, that distraction would be coming fast and plentiful.

Approximately three hours later several people were far too pale and shivering too much to be healthy. Their tentative requests for more clothing or anything that could keep them warm were answered only by threats and ominous laughter. Many were already huddling together, and Dick pressed closer to Marcus and Elisabeth and tried to ignore the cold floor draining all the heat from his lower body. 

He wasn’t sure how they were going to survive the next four hours and the uncertainty about what would happen afterwards was not helping. Their pleas for food and drink went by unheard, which Dick privately thought was a good idea. Nobody would die of dehydration in a day and it limited the number of toilet trips. 

Of course, being on the receiving end, he found it a violation of basic human rights and personal dignity. But if these people were happy to ignore normal criminal laws, why should a UN convention be treated any differently?

It was then that Dark Green returned, followed by one of the masked men, this one rather short and with a ponytail.

“We told them no capes, didn’t we?” Dark Green asked as he stepped in front of the group, but it was clearly a rhetorical question. “And would you look at that, they didn’t listen.”

Dick forcefully calmed himself so that not even his heart sped up at the news. Who was it? It couldn’t be Batman, could it? They wouldn’t have spotted B. No, it was someone flashier, someone the League – or the Team! He shouldn’t forget about them – thought they could get away with. But Superman and both Green Lanterns were on an away mission and Martian Manhunter could turn invisible.

“And yet there were reports of various blurs streaking through this lovely town.”

Speedsters. Of course. There was no stopping Kid Idiot when he got something into his head.

Dark Green crossed his arms in front of his chest like a disappointed teacher scolding his class. If it weren’t for the mask and the gun and the audience…

“So now we get to pick one of you as an example.”

Ponytail was setting up the camera, now pointed at all of them. Combat Boots stood up from his seat and joined Dark Green in front of them, playing with his gun. Their intentions were more than transparent.

Dick briefly wondered if volunteering himself would work or just make them angrier and suspicious-er.

“Now, we’re not idiots. We’re not picking at random. Some of you brats are worth much more than others. Hands up whose parents have a net worth of at least five million.”

Fear was a powerful motivator and almost everyone’s hands shot up. Dick kept his down, since his parents’ current net worth was zero – depressing jokes were how he dealt with it, his therapist even said it was healthier than whatever Bruce had going on – and to judge just how much research the kidnappers had done.

Not enough it seemed as Ponytail’s eyes swept over the group to settle on Dick. But when he stepped forward to point out his choice, Dark Green’s hand shot out to stop him.

“Not that one,” Dark Green said. “That’s Wayne. Worth at least five _billion._ I don’t know what he thinks he’s playing at. Don’t try to be a hero, kid.”

And with those words Green slapped Dick. He fell back with a surprised yelp, already tasting blood. Marcus and Ilse moved closer to help him and he quickly looked up to gauge Dark Green’s reaction, but the man had stopped paying attention to him.

“No, we need—” Green began and then checked over a piece of paper. “—Marcus Summers, I believe. Scholarship kid. Not worth a penny.”

Marcus’ eyes went wide and he flinched back, but there was nowhere to go. Green immediately zeroed on him: “That’s the one.”

Ilse ineffectively tried to fight away Ponytail, but he simply pushed her into Dick and hauled an unresisting Marcus to the front of the group, in clear view of the camera.

“I sure hope that’s the right one,” he mumbled, but Dark Green paid him no attention.

A complete silence had fallen over the group, broken only by Ilse’s soft cries and Marcus hyperventilating as he stared into the barrel of the gun promising his demise.

Dark Green repeated his message for the sake of the camera: “We told you, no capes. Now look at what you’ve done.”

Dick wasn’t too far away and he’d been inching closer and closer to the front ever since Ponytail dropped him. During Dark Green’s short speech he leaned forward, one of his knees to the floor and his body curved over the other, his eyes following Green’s fingers on the trigger.

They twitched.

And he sprung up.

He slammed into Marcus, propelling him to the floor amidst loud shouting from their captors and screams from his schoolmates as they both collapsed in a heap of limbs. Rough hands were immediately on his shoulders, wrenching him backwards and away from Marcus even as they tried to pull his arms behind him, straining his wrists as the handcuffs kept restraining them. He was unceremoniously lifted up and hung limply in the grip, not willing to anger them further.

“What the fuck!” he heard from somewhere and realised he had instinctually closed his eyes. Not that he wanted to open them now. 

His body was violently shaken and then shoved to the floor. He was grateful that wasn’t followed by a kick, and as he finally opened his eyes again he saw why. Dark Green, Ponytail and Goon 2 were in some sort of a standoff next to him, but he couldn’t tell in what form or why.

Combat Boots was pointing the apparently still recording camera at Marcus’ crumpled form and for a second Dick’s heart stopped. Was he not fast enough? Was Marcus–

Then the boy groaned and shifted and Dick almost sighed in relief as he spotted the wound in Marcus’ shoulder. Just injured, thank Batman. Hopefully others would take care of that, since he had more pressing issues in front of him.

Literally. 

Dark Green’s foot was on his chest.

And he was _pissed._ “What the hell do you think you’re doing you fucking brat?!” he spat at Dick and pressed his foot down.

Dick could only cry out in pain, the foot preventing him from drawing in enough breath to speak. And even then he still tried to analyse the situation. Dark Green had anger problems. This whole kidnapping thing wasn’t just a business transaction, horrible as that sounded, but something _more._

“Don’t play the hero, kid, you’ll only get hurt,” somebody else yelled but Dick couldn't determine who it was as he was too busy staring at the barrel of the gun pointed at his head.

For a moment he was sure he was going to die. 

It surprised him how unsurprising that was. It was always going to end like this, wasn’t that the whole point—

The gun slid away from him and pointed at someone behind him. The shot rang out before he even realised what had happened.

Dark Green finally stepped off of his chest and for a few moments he couldn’t hear anything past his loud breathing. Then his vision cleared up and with it the loud crying and the _smell._

Whipping his head around Dick stared at what was left of Professor Beck’s head. Not enough to survive.

Dick had made a bad call, again, that had resulted in a civilian casualty, again, and he wasn’t even Robin this time. 

“Why?” he breathed out, his head snapping back to look at Dark Green. The man’s eyes were cold and unchanged; this was a man that had killed before and had no qualms about doing it again.

“That’s on you,” Dark Green said. It was the first thing out of his mouth that Dick agreed with.

The situation just got a lot worse.

That... was not actually true. 

He had only just managed to realise just how bad their situation actually was.

That was a less factually wrong statement.

They dragged Professor Beck’s body away and got two kids to clean up, probably as to not suffer from the smell and not as any courtesy to the teenagers. Dick, who ended up with additional handcuffs on his legs and under much closer watch, considered volunteering for a very brief moment as some sort of repentance, but then realised that would only make him more suspicious.

And he couldn’t afford to make another bad call. 

The wait continued. The shivering, lethargy, disorientation… Despite all the clear signs of hypothermia, none of the kidnappers bothered to bring in a heater or even just a thin blanket. Did they _not_ want their hostages to survive?

Then Goon 1 marched into the room and headed straight for Dick, who had been isolated from his schoolmates. “Your daddy is on the phone with us,” he said, “offering us Heaven, Hell, and everything in between, if he could just speak to you for a minute.”

Dick didn’t dare to hope.

“So, for the extra fifteen million, we’re letting him do that. We’re nice people.”

And he pushed an old, modified landline phone into his hand. “On speaker, of course.”

Dick was not going to sob in relief.

“H-hello,” he whispered.

“Dick! Oh baby, you’re alive! Are you alright?!”

That was definitely Bruce. Dick had really missed his voice. It promised everything would be alright.

“Yes,” he said. “Are you going to get me out? Are you here?”

“We’re getting you out, I swear, Dickie. I’m here, I promise.”

Oh shit. That ‘comforting’ use of his name meant that there would be no Batman.

Dick tried his hand at soft sobbing: “I miss you and I miss my rabbit.”

That was code word for Robin. As in, he felt the situation called for the vigilante. He sincerely hoped that Bruce had seen the last video, had seen just how brutal these kidnappers could be.

“I know, Dickiebird, I know. But you will be alright without the rabbit, okay? We’ll get you out and—”

The phone was wrenched from Dick’s hand and he curled onto himself and pretended to sob some more. He’d heard enough. Bruce didn’t think Robin should get involved. And as revealing Robin would also be revealing Batman by proxy, it wasn’t an easy decision to make. It would potentially mean their death – whether metaphorical or real remained to be seen.

It’s easy to decide what should be sacrificed for the greater good when one can objectively look at the two sides and put them on a weighing scale. But when he was this close to what would in such a case deemed the ‘lesser’ good, the lesser evil to discard – then it was suddenly very hard to remain rational and make that choice. To let his schoolmates be slaughtered in front of his eyes when he could stop that?

No.

He wasn’t willing to let that happen.

If he let them die to preserve his secret, well, then it clearly wasn’t worth preserving. Because if he was prepared to pay _this_ price, then how far was he willing to go? How many bodies would be too many?

He tried to assure himself that if the worse came to worst, well, they still had Martian Manhunter in such a case, or a shitton of memory suppressant drugs. To be honest, he didn’t really care about that. If Martian Manhunter wasn’t available, or the drugs weren’t there, then so be it. He’d made up his mind.

But in order for Dick to actually be able to become Robin, he would have to acquire his belt.

Which was… Well, he’d just laid the groundwork, hadn’t he. Oh man, this was going to be so embarrassing. He really hoped Wally never learned of this.

He raised his head: “Please, can I get my rabbit?”

“You want a rabbit,” Combat Boots said and came closer. “Do you also want a pony? Maybe a unicorn? Please, o Prince of Gotham, what is it you wish for?”

The sarcasm was unappreciated, but helpful as the man was not currently pointing a gun at Dick for daring to voice his request. Dick experimentally wobbled his lower lip. “My— My plushie,” he stammered out. “I bet – I bet daddy would give you another fifteen million if you let me have it!”

Aaaand he should’ve stopped giving Bruce reasons to kill him. But the request would also serve as a way of informing Bruce of Dick’s plan, so it was all good?

Not even close.

“A plushie?” the man laughed. “At your age?”

Like he’d said, embarrassing.

He nodded. 

“And your daddy would pay for that, too. Where is it?”

They took the bait. Dick described his backpack and waited in breathless anticipation as Goon 1 went to retrieve it.

Combat Boots held it just out of Dick’s reach for a moment. “If you so much as move without our permission, we’ll dispose of this, understood?”

Ah, they thought they found a way to control him. How nice. Dick was acutely aware of the poisonous stares from his schoolmates, probably angry at him from fraternizing with the enemy and asking for something as dumb as a plushie, for fucking fifteen million.

Which was… True.

The rabbit being his favourite plushie even at fourteen was a very good excuse for always carrying it with him somewhere he could easily reach it, but at the same time an excellent reason for never telling anyone about it and being very careful with it.

The rabbit was also big enough that his utility belt and the technology obscuring its presence were hidden in it with ease.

And there was always something sharp in his shoe.

He hugged the rabbit close to himself. Fifteen million for Robin. What a bargain. Now he just had to wait for another distraction as he analysed the situation.

Three gunmen were left with them, again. Combat Boots stood in front of the middle entrance, through which both Goon 2 and Dark Green had disappeared. 

Dick had his schoolmates on his left, Combat Boots directly in front of him and even further on Ponytail sat on the pile of benches, half watching the schoolchildren and half watching the exit on his right. Goon 1 was slowly patrolling up and down directly in front of the children.

Then a girl collapsed. Dick wasn’t sure who it was, as he didn’t have time to check, too busy ripping a hole in the rabbit while the men tried to settle the commotion her collapse had caused. 

First he got rid of the handcuffs, something he had been working on ever since they sat him down in that particular corner. 

Then he pulled the belt over his right shoulder and clipped it closed underneath his left, his mask going into his pocket. But he didn’t move just yet, as Goon 1 was all too close to his schoolmates. Thankfully both Ponytail and Boots were too busy watching the commotion to notice Dick, even as he pulled the rabbit to his chest to cover the belt. His other hand silently opened one of the compartments and pulled out a couple of birdarangs, then found a flash bang in another.

He shifted forward, hugging the rabbit even tighter and obscuring his face. The mask was affixed with a simple press and the lenses shifted dark after another.

Both Boots and Ponytail were back at their positions, and judging by Goon 1’s footsteps, he was now approaching Robin’s position. All the better.

He waited until the man was above him.

Then he discarded the rabbit and sprung up. His knee connected with the man’s groin at the same moment that his hands ripped the weapon out of the man’s hands. As the man keeled over, Robin swung the rifle down like a baton and hit him over the back of his head. The possibility of him getting back up during that fight was now small enough that Robin could focus on the other two attackers and forget about him for a moment.

Ponytail and Boots had both already sprung on their feet and were pointing their guns at him. Or they were, for the whole two seconds it took Robin to release the flashbang. Long time spent underground in low visibility conditions and a sudden flash of bright light was not a good combination, and Robin was dismayed to find himself considering the cries of pain from his schoolmates a good additional distraction.

The two birdarangs he threw and hit their rifles with were equipped with low yield explosives, just enough to destroy the weapons but not the hands that held them. Or at least not any permanent damage. Had the same thing happened to him, he would’ve continued fighting on with only minimal hesitation.

But even if they had hesitated only for a moment (which they hadn’t; their yells of pain and anger were too long for that), they would still have been too late. Robin was upon them in a flash (a joke _not_ stolen from Kid Mouth). Ponytail got his legs swept up from under him and Combat Boots got a three-punch combo in the stomach. Then the man tried to hit him back, which Robin swiftly evaded and struck him twice to the side. The next punch went over his head and he fell down into a roll that gave him some empty space to work with. Ponytail had managed to pick himself up and even found a knife in the meantime, now rushing towards him with Combat Boots next to him. Robin turned around and sprinted away in what probably resembled a cowardly retreat.

Then his feet hit the slightly bent wall and he raised his body just enough to do a backflip onto Ponytail’s shoulders, toppling him into Boots.

Both went down hard, with Robin executing another backflip away from them. Then he was already rushing back, one kick to the back of Boots’ knees to keep him down and a solid kick to Ponytail’s chest for the same reason. But he knew they weren’t incapacitated yet, so he slammed their heads into the ground for the additional safety measure. It was a dirty thing to do, even to a goon and a kidnapper, but he didn’t have much choice.

He had zip ties with him, so he used a combination of those and the handcuffs the men had to immobilize them. He also thoroughly searched them and threw away all their weaponry in a neat pile far away from them, and only then dragged them to the ‘toilet’ entrance where he positioned them far away from each other so that they couldn’t immediately assist one another.

When he stepped back into the main chamber his eyes finally fell onto his silent spectators and with a shudder he realised they were as silent as when the kidnappers held them on point. They were staring at him with wide open eyes. Scared. He’d frightened them. And normally calming them and getting them out would be his job, except–

Well. He could’ve ripped off his mask; it wouldn’t have changed much but for a psychological effect. And yet he didn’t. 

He took the key he’d found on Combat Boots out of his pocket and held it in front of him as he approached Ilse. She was quiet and unmoving as he offered her the key. “Here,” he said, “Let me.”

She silently turned and he unlocked her handcuffs.

“Here,” he repeated and gave her the key. “Help the others.”

“Holy shit,” someone else then said into total silence. “Lil’ Rich is Robin?”

That was _not_ a nickname he knew anything about and he swirled around to look at the speaker. Of course it was fucking Maximillian.

But Max’s outburst set everyone else off too. And now they weren’t crying out in pain but rather in surprise, incredulity and a little bit of anger. 

Robin didn’t have time to listen. Ilse was moving slowly, so most of them were still handcuffed and sitting down. He turned away from them, just enough to still keep the second entrance in his sight.

Neither Dark Green nor Goon 2 had arrived yet, meaning they either had no idea what was happening or were planning something.

He lifted up the bulky long-distance communicator, hoped for the signal booster he had stuck to the lift while pretending to fall to work, and regretted the absence of any sort of earbuds. Speaker system it was.

“Robin to Cave, come in anybody, this is an emergency!”

No response. Was nobody at Mount Justice?

“Robin to team, come in, c’mon.”

Still no answer. Switching channels then.

“Robin to HOJ/Watchtower, come in, priority red,” he tried again.

The communicator finally crackled to life.

“Robin, this is Watchtower, Black Canary here. Are you alright?”

How nice of her to worry.

He pretended not to hear the excited whispering behind him.

“Of course,” he said. “Completely whelmed. No time to chat though. Who’s here right now?”

Because even with the very strict no-capes prohibition he sincerely doubted they all stayed away.

“Wonder Woman and Flash. And B is, you know, not there _officially._ Superman and the first Green Lantern are on their way back, but it will take them half an hour at least.”

Did the JL seriously recall them from their mission just for this?

“We’re going to need Martian Manhunter,” he told Black Canary. “Or the _alternative._ A lot of it. B knows the numbers.”

“Alright,” Black Canary said, accepting that revelation with such ease Robin could only dream of when it came to Batman. “Anything else?”

“An ambulance on standby. And have Martian Manhunter sweep the building once he gets here – get Flash to get him here. Find the man that brought us down here, he posed as our guide. Should be on the cameras. As soon as the building is clear I’ll start sending up people. Have Wonder Woman intercept them. And that’s all I can think of right now.”

That was all slightly more authoritative than Robin usually was or really had the ground to be, but Black Canary allowed it, probably thinking him mission leader of one.

“Alright,” she said again. “All good ideas. We’ll inform you as soon as it’s done. Watchtower out.”

Now his schoolmates were more lively and loud than before, but still subdued due to the hypothermia.

“Dude, holy shit,” Rebecca hoarsely said, “you’re really Robin?”

“And that stupid rabbit,” another blonde said, “I knew there was something up with that.”

“I can’t believe I know Robin,” someone else said.

“Dick Grayson? Are you kidding me?”

“They said they sent _Superman._ And Wonder Woman!”

“Do you think Batman is here?”

“Holy shit the Batman is Dick Grayson’s dad.”


	3. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost over, but not quite yet.

It was as amusing as it was depressing. His deepest secret, which would, should it ever be revealed, destroy his life, was bringing such joy to them. He didn’t have time for this.

“I need you all to be quiet!” he snapped. “You’re not safe yet. There’s still two more men somewhere close by and you can’t leave until I know it’s safe upstairs. Here, I’ll leave my communicator here. As soon Black Canary – or someone else – tells you you’re good to go, you go as fast as possible! But until then stay here as I go and check on the other two men. Keep an eye on the three over there. If they start moving, pop this pellet –” and he gave it to Jacob, “– in front of their face and keep yourself out of the gas. In the worst case scenario, someone should come after me. You saw where I dumped their weapons – if you think you might need them, take them. But only if you're sure. If you fight someone with a weapon you don’t know how to use, you’re only arming your opponent. This isn’t… I know you’re all tired and scared, but you need to do this. Just a little more and you’re free.”

He sincerely hoped his words were more encouraging to hear than they were to stay.

“And why should we listen to you?” someone said. “You’re just a kid. You’re younger than me!” It was a tall boy that often hung with Maximilian, a relatively new acquaintance whose name Robin had managed to forget.

Robin almost groaned. He didn’t have time to deal with people questioning his authority, not when so many lives were at risk. “But right now I’m Robin. I’ve trained for these types of situations, unlike you. And believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice.”

He hoped that would be enough, but he wasn’t counting on it.

Luckily, someone jumped to his defence.

“What’s wrong with you!” Ilse half yelled, half cried out. “Do you seriously wanna fight right now?! Marcus is fucking bleeding out! Besides, you saw him! That’s definitely Robin!”

“What’s Robin without Batman, hm? And I don’t see the big bat anywhere!” Maximilian pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Exactly!” Another person joined in the screaming. It was Albert. “There’s no one else here to save us! They’re not coming! The heroes are not coming!”

Max’s friend stalked forwards, pushing Ilse out of his path to stare directly at Robin. He was half a head taller and much broader than the vigilante.

But Robin was only worried about what the kid was going to make him do to him.

“Anyone can play Robin,” Max’s friend said, his eyes narrowing. “Besides, I think we can take the assholes. And why isn’t he letting us go? What are you hiding?”

That was followed by a shove strong enough that Robin almost stumbled to the ground.

“Listen,” he hissed, “we don’t have time for this! Like I said, you don’t know if it’s safe upstairs! Just wait here and I’ll—“

“You’ll what.”

“—I’ll finish with them and by then the League will have secured the building, alright? I’m not hiding anything! Just— just sit down and wait!”

He hoped they would listen but knew they wouldn’t.

“Again, because you said so and—”

A simple hit to the temple was all it took to render the douchebag unconscious and even Ilse stared at him in horror as the guy collapsed to the ground.

Robin didn’t have time to deal with the fallout. He was uncomfortably like Batman as he left the scene behind without even a shameful nod.

He was feeling and reacting sluggishly, the cold catching up to him and slowing his limbs as he tiptoed along the tunnel. The lights were weak and the few that were working were also flickering, their shadows dancing a complicated disco across the floor and walls.

It was complete silence as he moved forward, careful to step over every stone and puddle in order to not disturb something that could give him away. It took him quite a while until he finally hit a fork in the tunnel, two similar looking paths leading in different directions. The distance would explain why neither Goon 2 nor Dark Green had come checking on them yet. They probably had no idea what was happening, content to assume that three armed men could easily guard fifteen handcuffed teenagers.

But that was for later. Now he had a choice to make. Careful examination of both entrances to the tunnels provided no discernible differences in dust level or footprints and he was just considering taking one at random when his skin shivered in the cold air. _Moving_ cold air. Not a lot, not enough to find its path by simply licking his finger and feeling the wind, but just enough for the small flame of his lighter to gently dance towards the left tunnel.

Moving air meant _exit,_ which meant an escape route, so the two men were probably barricaded somewhere close by.

Five minutes later he found out he had been right.

They hadn’t spotted him yet, hunched as they were over something on a table.

The tunnel expanded a bit here, with some chairs off to the side and two desks showed against the other wall. There was also the whine of running generators and some better lamps next to a crate of weapons. Over the men Robin could see heavily barred iron doors, underneath which a draft was pulling in.

Both men were too engrossed in their planning and low muttering to notice him as he snuck up on them. Goon 2 was closer to him, so he pickpocketed the man’s knife and gun. Dark Green was too far away to reach without being spotted, so one disarmed opponent would have to do. He gripped the gun and hit Goon 2’s right in the kidneys.

The man yelled out in pain and fell forwards onto the table. Robin spun around to take on Dark Green and found himself with a pistol to his face and a menacing: “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why, scared I’ll kick your ass?” Robin quipped, but his eyes were stuck on the man’s other hand that was holding a small box.

Dark Green flipped it open, showing a small red button. “The place is rigged. One little press of my finger and the hostages go _bam._ ”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? Can you afford to take that chance?”

Robin didn’t. And Dark Green knew that. 

“Well,” the man said, “and here I thought I was perfectly clear with my instructions. No capes or we’ll kill another kid. And yet here you are.”

He tapped his chin even as Robin considered how fast he could move. Could he reach the box in time? Maybe. But that maybe was a fair cry away from _certainly,_ which was the only way he could allow himself to try it. He already had one death on his conscience and he wasn’t going to add to it.

“Except,” the man continued, “you didn't come in this way and you most certainly didn’t come down with the lift.”

Robin didn’t know why Dark Green was so certain about that last part, but he had some ideas and he liked none of them. Did they destroy the lift? Booby trap it? Shit. He had to warn his schoolmates before they tried to leave. Or at least hope really hard that Martian Manhunter or B spotted the trap for what it was.

Dark Green continued to speak, unaware of Robin’s inner turmoil. “And I recognize your clothes. We brought you here, didn’t we, _Richard?”_

Great, now an unstable mercenary that wasn’t Deathstroke knew his name. There was no point in surviving this, as B was sure to kill him the moment he found out.

“Nothing to say now?” Dark Green motioned towards Goon 2, who had long since recovered, and now grabbed Robin’s hand in a bruising grip. “You do everything we tell you and there might even be some survivors.”

They didn’t have any handcuffs with them, so Goon 2 used his belt to bind Robin’s hands as Dark Green took his utility belt away. 

“You blow them up and there’s nothing stopping me from kicking your ass,” Robin hissed when Goon 2’s hand strayed too far down his back.

“Really,” murmured Dark Green, “and here I thought you wanted your identity to stay secret.”

Robin closed his eyes for a second as the realisation hit him. There was no Batman around to say _I told you so_ and yet the words echoed clear as day in his head. Of course. This was bound to happen.

But.

But not all was lost.

“Really,” he snarked, “because where I stand, it looks like you would need to get out first to tell someone. If I take down both of you there’s no one _left_ to tell the world who Robin is.”

C’mon, take the bait. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon—

“That’s what you think,” Goon 2 said and then Dark Green snapped at him: “Jones!”

Goon 2 – or Jones, although that was both a depressingly common name and quite possibly a codename – shrugged: “Just letting him know he really shouldn’t try anything.”

“I think he got that,” Dark Green murmured.

Then he punched Robin in the stomach. Robin doubled over, the only thing still holding him up being Jones’ hands on his forearms. Yep, he was definitely going to have bruises. But Dark Green had put the gun down in order to hit him, and his other hand now hid the trigger. If Robin could reach it before Dark Green—

The man wasn’t completely stupid and kept a reasonable distance between them, enough for his punched and kicks to connect but never staying close long enough for Robin to do something about it. He was forced to stand there and take it, swallowing cries of pain to not give Dark Green satisfaction and prolong the torture, hoping that at some point the man would make a mistake.

He didn’t. With the last punch Jones let him go and Robin slid to the floor, curling onto himself and trying not to cry as his entire abdomen was one giant gaping wound of pain. 

“How pathetic,” Jones said and spat on him. “I thought the Boy Wonder was supposed to be tough. More of a Cry Blunder, isn’t he.”

Even in such awful pain, the more god awful pun still registered and Robin rolled his eyes, luckily hidden behind his mask. Seriously, how did such dumbasses manage to be so fucking clever when it came to committing crimes was a mystery he had yet to solve. Also, language. Although he felt like he deserved some serious curse words allowance given the situation. The very underwhelming situation he’d managed to get himself into because he’d failed to anticipate a backup plan. Batman was going to be so pissed, 

Rightfully so, not that Robin would tell him that.

Alright, no time to be depressed and stressed about stuff that hasn't happened yet.

He had half a plan, but this one, like all the others, hinged on someone providing distraction. A lot of his plans were like that, since he was used to operating with a partner if not an entire team. Something he would have to remedy when he got back to his training.

An ice pellet was hidden in his hand and he was almost finished with the ropes, disguising his movement as him thrashing around in pain. There was not a lot of acting necessary to make the two men think that.

Jones was now half leaning on the table, his gun pointed at Robin even as his eyes were focused on whatever Dark Green had opened in front of him. When Dark Green spotted him looking at them, he shook his hand with the button. “Don’t.”

Robin settled back down again and waited.

It was cold, but his body hurt too much for him to go to involuntary sleep and succumb to the worse hypothermia symptoms. That probably hadn’t been Dark Green’s intention with the beating, but Robin was looking for every silver lining he could find. Hell, he would take bronze and simple iron too, if only he could find it.

The approaching footsteps were golden. Two people, light enough to indicate younger people, so the three gunmen hadn’t gotten free. They were hurried and he could hear harsh breaths of someone that was exhausted, scared, and not used to running in such conditions. He prepared himself.

In another moment, a redhead (Sasha something) and Jasmine T Pearce skidded to a sudden stop.

Jones’ eyes went wide and he pulled his gun upwards at the same moment that Dark Green spun around and his finger went to flip the box open.

Neither were fast enough. Robin threw the ice pellet with one hand and hit Dark Green’s arm, effectively freezing it and the still closed box shut. His other hand flew in Jones’ direction, grazing the gun even as the man pressed the trigger.

The resulting shot grazed Robin’s shoulder, but he didn’t pay attention to it. His next punch caught the man in his throat and Robin pulled the gun out of his hand, swiftly dismantling it and letting the pieces fall all around them. Then he was already next to Dark Green, who was unsuccessfully trying to chip off the ice. The man twisted around and tried to hit Robin with his frozen hand, but Robin was too fast and ducked underneath the punch. Instead he was the one to hit Dark Green in his stomach, definitely no payback there, and then with a jump and a spin kicked him in the chest. The kick sent him across the room and into the wall, where he slumped down, unconscious.

Robin performed another jump to avoid Jones' hands, his hit now landing on the man's jaw.

Jones slumped down, dead to the world.

Robin took a deep breath and relaxed his fingers. Then he picked up the utility belt Dark Green had taken and put it back on.

Only afterwards did he turn back to the two teenagers that had interrupted them.

They both stood frozen as they stared at him in surprise.

"Well?" he said, then flinched. It sounded far too rude. "Is everything okay?" he tried again.

"Y-yes," Sasha finally stuttered out. "Actually, someone wanted to speak with you."

"It was Martian Manhunter," helpfully supplied Jasmine. "He said it was important. Oh, and he also said to tell you that B said it's a 98 117? Although I don't know what that means."

That was the code for: there's a bomb underneath you. Which he knew already, no thanks to B.

"Thank you," he still said and extended his hand to receive the communicator. When neither gave it to him, he prompted them: "The communicator?"

"Ah, the other team has it."

"The other team?"

"Nobody wanted to go alone, so four of us went to find you, but then we didn't know whether to take the left or the right path so we split up but since we had only one communicator we flipped a coin and the other team got it."

Even the speedy way with which the report was delivered reminded Robin of Kid Flash.

"Thanks," he said again.

It was then that Jasmine spotted the barred door.

"What's through there?" she asked.

"Trouble."

He wasn't certain about it, but there might have been additional backup and reinforcements somewhere outside. He wasn't willing to take the risk to find out.

"We need to go," he said. But first he had to get that trigger away from Dark Green and ensure there weren't more.

"I'm going to tie them up. You two take any weapons you find. And tell me immediately if you find something that looks like a trigger."

"Like, a gun—"

"Like a big red button."

"Shit, is there a bomb?" Sasha's eyes went even wider and his mouth dropped open.

Robin didn't want to lie. "Somewhere. But it won't go off if we find and take all the triggers."

They found one more, so now Robin had two in his pockets as he led Sasha and Jasmine back to the main hall. They had left Jones and Dark Green tied up well enough that Robin hoped they would still be there when he got back.

On the way back they bumped into the other pair, Ilse and Hannah, who immediately gave him the communicator.

"Robin here," he briskly said. "98 is under control. How's our escape route?"

"Well, originally non-existent with the way the tried to destroy the elevator," and that was Flash. Robin wondered why it wasn't B or Martian Manhunter on the comms. "But then Wonder Woman got down to business and cleared away some debris. We're in the process of improving the lift machinery. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes and then we can start bringing you up. Martian Manhunter is ready to receive you when you do.”

“Send down Wonder Woman with the first group,” Robin suggested. “I’m also sending you coordinates. There seems to be another exit there, but I have no way of telling how heavily guarded it is on the other side.”

“Will do. Just sit tight and wait, we’ll be with you soon.”

And just like that, it was over.

Robin packed away his mask and his belt in his backpack and sat onto one of the benches his schoolmates had set up so that they didn't have to sit on the cold floor again. They were still moving, some jumping and stretching to get warm, some standing in a semi-circle over their three prisoners, some huddling together for warmth and all of them sneaking glances at Dick as he sat and stared at nothing even as his mind jumped all over.

They would fix this. Martian Manhunter or the drugs or something. They would alter the memories of his new friends and schoolmates as well as the kidnappers and all would be well again.

Bruce would yell and be angry, but they would both be alright. And Bruce would even get his money back. Dick shuddered as he remembered how their brief conversation cost an astounding thirty million. Thirty million dollars was a lot, even if Bruce did keep saying it was about time that Dick started spending more than the bare minimum on himself. Just... obeying orders.

Professor Beck was dead. It was his fault. Two statements, both true and very devastating. He tried to remember if she was married, but she was rather private and never mentioned her personal life during lessons and she didn’t wear a ring. That didn’t mean she didn’t have a significant other or someone who depended on her or cared about her.

And Marcus, oh poor Marcus. Some of the students had wrapped his shoulder and tried to help him as best as they could, but Dick was reasonably sure the boy’s arm was never going to be the same. He went over what Marcus had told them about himself that day. He wasn’t particularly sporty, but he liked running and volleyball. Well, he could probably say goodbye to at least that particular sport and many others as well.

Elisabeth seemed to be doing relatively fine, huddled in a pile of her friends as she was at the moment and Dick sincerely hoped the wound didn’t get infected before they got her into a hospital. She would at least be alright.

The comm beeped twice and he glanced at it, but it was just letting him know that the first group was on its way. As soon as they arrived, the first five people – because they could do it without a guide this time – would be able to leave. Everyone would want to go, but he would have to make sure that the injured ones got the medical attention first. Then whoever was suffering most. Somebody with small, thin stature probably. Professor Beck’s body would go last, after even the kidnappers.

“Get back from the door,” he said out loud, “the first rescue group is coming. Make sure they find Marcus and Elisabeth, and–”

Running footsteps and the door burst open. Dick twirled around, prepared to deal with the unexpected attack, but it was only Wonder Woman now lowering her shield. She smiled when she saw them and strode forwards.

Then Bruce was suddenly standing behind her and he became the only thing Dick could see. Bruce’s lips moved, shaping Dick’s name. He might’ve spoken it out loud, not that Dick would’ve heard it over the screaming silence in his ears. The next thing he knew were strong arms catching him as he collapsed into Bruce, uncaring of the world around them.

He was finally safe.

Dick later found himself and Bruce in a spacious penthouse nearby the incident site, his body wrapped in warm clothes and his scratches and cuts all treated.

He remembered neither coming there nor getting any sort of medical attention or help dressing. One moment he was hugging Bruce, the other he was blankly staring at the wall.

“Ah,” Bruce said, “you’re back with us.”

Of course he’d noticed.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Dick mumbled.

“Still, I'm glad you’re back.”

A warm hand on his shoulder and Bruce stood up from where he’d sat close to Dick on the sofa. “There’s a number of people that want to see you if you feel up to it.”

Dick frowned: “But I thought—what about a, a debrief, and, and a report, and oh crap, I forgot to tell you about the men, and the Dark Green— The accomplice!“

“Dick, breathe.”

He hadn’t even realised he was hyperventilating until Bruce was in front of him, slowly counting with him to get his breathing under control.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Bruce said in a manner very uncharacteristic of the big bad bat. “We’ll get to it later. Nothing urgent.”

“But B,” Dick almost whined, “it’s important – I revealed my identity! I know you said I couldn’t, but I also couldn’t—“

“We’ve taken care of it,” Bruce interrupted him again. “And going by Martian Manhunter’s report of what he’d seen in the memories he’d… _slightly altered,_ let us say that, you didn’t have much choice.”

“So you’re not angry,” Dick slowly and hopefully ventured.

The pain in Bruce’s eyes made his widen too.

“Never!” Bruce hastened to assure him. “Dick, I’m so proud of you—you saved so many people. How could I ever be angry? Were it not for you, I’m afraid we would be looking at fifteen corpses.”

“And not only one.”

“What was that?”

Of course Bruce hadn’t missed his quiet murmur. Did he even want Bruce to miss it? He wouldn’t have said it otherwise.

“I…” Dick slowly started, “if I’d been faster, I could’ve saved Professor Beck, too, but I wasn’t and now she’s dead because I made a bad call and I— I’m so sorry, but I wasn’t thinking and—“

To his horror he discovered tears welling in his eyes and he tried to blink them away to no avail. He swallowed over the lump in his throat and swiped them away from his face, not daring to look at Bruce.

Bruce’s hand gently nudged his, offering him a handkerchief.

“I’m still proud of you,” Bruce said. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I know… I know how you feel when you can’t save everyone, Robin, but that’s… That’s life. It happens. And I know that saying ‘now move on’ right now seems impossible, but that’s what we’ll do. I’m. Right now I am just happy you’re alright.”

And there was another hug. Two in one day, almost a record. But he was slowly getting B used to them and to normal human contact in general.

But right now – “Dude! You’re alright!”

“Wally!” Dick spun around to greet his favourite speedster.

“I believe you were asked to wait outside.” Bruce narrowed his eyes.

Wally, who had through exposure therapy stopped flinching any time Bruce so much as looked at him, now merely bit his lip: “Maybe.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Am I to expect the rest of your team to join us soon?”

“First, I’m way faster than a bioship, so unless they tagged me, they have no idea where I went. Second, of course I didn’t reveal The Secret, I know you’re looking for an excuse to murder me and I am not falling for it!”

Wally said all of that while fiercely hugging Dick.

"And third?" Bruce prompted.

"No third. Well, maybe a little bit of third. If I'm alone, I get Dick all to myself."

A moment of total silence.

"Holy jeez, that came out wrong."

"Holy jeez?" Dick laughed.

"Shut up or I'll stop being glad you're alright and go on to kick your ass for putting yourself in danger!"

"B, he's threatening me!"

"I find his threats to be quite appropriate, actually."

"B, you can't bond with a speedster against your partner! It's against the rules! Wally, tell him!"

"I am _not_ picking sides here, nuh-uh."

"I'm your best friend!"

"And that's Batman! I don't wanna die!"

"He doesn't kill, he just—"

"Maims, yes, I'm not comfortable with that either."

"Coward."

"Chicken."

"You little—"

"It almost feels like I got off easy, somehow," Dick later admitted to Wally. "I revealed— I unmasked myself, to twenty people, and _no one_ remembers it anymore."

"Cool, right?"

Dick frowned. "Terrifying."

"But everything's alright now," Wally hurried to reassure him.

"That's the problem. Well, not really, but— But. Look at how easy it was, to remove something as important as my identity from everyone's mind. Doesn't that scare you?"

"Yes, but we trust Martian Manhunter." Wally then sat up, turning to the side to stare at the still lying down Dick. "We do, don't we?"

"Sure, but he's not the only one with such powers. Don't you ever wonder if you'd forgotten—no, if you've been _made_ to forget something? You wouldn't even know that you're missing someone, maybe even a piece of you."

"Now _that_ is terrifying. But we get checked over by Martian Manhunter _and_ Miss Martian and either would've told us if they found something like that." He realised that Dick was still frowning. "C'mon, you don't think that either od them—"

Dick finally broke into a smile: "Nah, I'm just kidding. It was a hypothetical anyway. Besides, this was all for their own good."

And there was absolutely no way that something like that could ever backfire.

**Author's Note:**

> While I am of the opinion that readers themselves make up their minds about what is right and what is wrong and that the opinions and ideals in the story are by no means those of the author; that any such disclaimers are at best unnecessary and at worst belittle the reader, the following simply must be stated:  
> There are some rather egregious opinions in this text that I simply cannot stand to have associated with my name.  
> First, German trains are far from punctual. No, even more delayed than what you’re imagining right now.  
> Second, the name Ilse is of German origin (which is also news to me since I always thought it was either Norwegian or Dutch).  
> Third, Dutch is in fact not a German dialect so weird that it is considered its own language. You’re thinking of Bavarian. Or ‘Austrian’.


End file.
